What I Remember

23 years ago today my dad died. Funny how it can be so long ago and still feel like yesterday.

I was almost 7 years old. My mom, little sister and I were celebrating our across the street neighbor's birthday in her home. When I close my eyes, I can see everything.

We were sitting at the table. There was a light over my shoulder- the room was relatively dim. I believe we had just sang Happy Birthday.

Knock, knock, knock.

We weren't expecting anyone.

When your spouse is a police officer, it is never a good sign to have another police officer at your door during your spouse's shift.

He told my mom, "Your husband's been hurt. You need to come with me." I can only begin to imagine what was going through her head. And, just like that, they left.

I remember pacing the floors. Worse yet, I was old enough to read and the tv was on. Soon, we saw the words, "Officer down" scroll across the television screen. "I just know that's my dad. I just know that's my dad," I kept telling my friend's mom. "You don't know that," she'd reply. I knew. I remember keeping calm, but my pace became more frantic. I just wanted my mom. I just wanted to know what happened. Where was she?

She finally came to get me. It was quiet. She'd been crying. She held my hand. Walked me back across the street to our home.  It was dark now. I probably should have been in bed. There were so many people. So many cars. I'd never seen news crews up close, but I was about to get up close and personal. I wish I could recall her exact words. I remember being told my daddy wasn't coming home. Whether or not that's what I was told, that's what I processed. I can still see Ruby (what is he, a detective? Someone reading this will know. I just know him as Ruby and he was at my house the night my dad died). I remember seeing him standing behind my mom. He was in a sports coat and had one hand in his pocket and looked at the ground while my mom talked with me. There was so much going on. I remember my PaPaw, a former police chief, discussing details with anyone and everyone. I can still see my Memaw, wide-eyed, starring at the television to see what reporters had to say about her son.

Someone- a neighbor- scooped me up and rocked me. She rocked me in the same chair that I now rock my own babies in. My mama's chair. I didn't really know what to do, but to ask, "Why me? Why my daddy?" You know, I asked that because I'd seen movies or tv shows where tragedy had struck and that's what the people said. "Why me?" I don't remember outside of that what I felt. I do remember sitting in the bathroom with my 2 year old sister while she took a bath. I don't know if anyone had told her what had happened because I remember telling her about it. I told her that he'd been shot. To her, being shot took place at the doctor's office.

I remember having to grow up alot that night. 6 to 16 in just a few hours.

While I was pacing the floors that night in my friend's home, I had no idea there was a state-wide police chase and manhunt going on for a man wanted in several states for murder. And now, he was wanted in Texas. A very bad man. I'll spare details of his history because they'd make you want to vomit. For the last 23 years, everytime I drive past the once named Best Western hotel on 11th Street, I think about what happened there on March 22, 1988. Every. Time. A police officer- my dad- pulled in to check out a stolen vehicle. Went to the driver's room. A fight ensued. A gun was fired. I've never told anyone this, but everytime I've gone to Christus St. Elizabeth Hospital to have a baby, I've thought about how that was also the place where he died. I'll enter the building and briefly think, "Is this where they rolled him in?" When I go down different corridors I'll quietly wonder, "Is this where my mom stood?"

By God's grace given to me, I've forgiven that man for his decision that night. I am no longer mad at God. Haven't been for quite some time. While I no longer harbored anger, I still had questions. Why, really, or for what purpose did his death in my life serve? For many, many, many years I thought the subject of forgiveness was it. Because I had experienced forgiveness and thus have forgiven, that's a story I could share. I thought that was really all this chapter in my life (a very, very long chapter!) was about.

But several weeks ago, I was sitting in the lecture portion of the Bible study I attend on Wednesday mornings. Nancy, our teaching leader, was teaching from Isaiah 43. She pointed out a passage of Scripture and something happened to me that I had not experienced before. The room became a little distorted. Not to sound dramatic, but she, the stage, the stained glass, and the people around me became a bit fuzzy. I have no idea what she said after she explained Isaiah 43:4. In that moment, God answered my question.

"Why did my dad have to die?"

^{Isaiah 43:4} 
"Because you are precious in my eyes,
   and honored, and I love you,
I give men in return for you,
   peoples in exchange for your life."

God took my dad's life in order to reach mine. This still makes my head spin. My dad's death was so tragic. So sudden. So much has come about from it. Despite the painful circumstances surrounding his death, I actually see beauty in it now. Some reading this will scoff. Some will disagree. My dad was a born again Christian. His eternal life was secure. Mine was not. Nor was my sister's. Nor was Sam-my-dad's (my mom is remarried... I call him Dad!).


As I reflect on this day, I cry over the memories, recalling the sad moments. But, I am also humbled and filled with joy. March 22 marks the start of God's calling me to be His. And that I am!